BOOTSY'S RUBBER BAND (Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Funk music is all about the rhythm section—more so than any other genre save for that illegitimate child it had with disco, hiphop. The greatest funk band of all time is Parliament/Funkadelic, and their bassist was the mighty Bootsy Collins, formerly of James Brown's legendary band. Ergo, Bootsy's the greatest funk bassist by a country mile, which puts him in contention for best bassist of all time. And why? Is it technical skill? No, although he has plenty. It's because he's got 63 years of funk in those fingertips, goddammit. The swing, the syncopation, the effortless interplay with the drums, it's all there, deep in his bone marrow. Saying Bootsy Collins is great is a tautology, because greatness is, in fact, Bootsy Collins. KYLE FLECK Also see My, What a Busy Week!

THURSDAY 6/25

MARION WALKER, HORNET LEG, MALL CASTE (Foggy Notion, 3416 N Lombard) Marion Walker isn't a lady named Marion, it's a band that makes friendly psych-rock. Not that that's a bad thing, but the band just generally sounds like people you'd invite into your living room. Their laidback, poppy psych jams split vocals between Jessie Marion Smith and Kyle Walker Akins (now you know where they get it), sounding like Roky Erickson writing songs for middle school crushes, or a J Mascis who got so high he forgot to solo. They're joined by Hornet Leg, Portland's long-running hidden garage-rock gem. Hornet Leg's songs, sometimes released on K Records, sometimes just tossed up on Bandcamp, speak in a new lexicon of bone-ragged garage rock. MAC POGUE

THE WORLD'S LARGEST "LOUIE, LOUIE" SING-ALONG: THE KINGSMEN, HEAVY CITY, ROCK 'N' ROLL CAMP FOR GIRLS, THE BEAT GOES ON (Portland City Hall, 1221 SW 4th) In 1964, the FBI undertook an investigation to scrutinize the lyrics of the Kingsmen's version of "Louie, Louie" for possible obscenity. Their conclusion? They couldn't figure out what the fuck Kingsmen vocalist Jack Ely was singing, so they dropped the case. Turns out "Louie, Louie" does have actual, intelligible words that are in English, and they're totally harmless. Sing them yourself this afternoon at the World's Largest "Louie, Louie" Sing-Along, taking place on the steps of Portland City Hall to commemorate the 1963 recording of the song here in Portland, at the long-gone Northwestern, Inc. studio at SW 13th and Burnside. It's a fundraiser for the folks at Know Your City, and they even got the surviving members of the Kingsmen to turn out for it. There will be other musical performances, a marching band, and a special doughnut from Voodoo Doughnut made just for the occasion. NED LANNAMANN

HEMINGWAY, OUR FIRST BRAINS, MR. BONES, CAREGIVER (Twilight Café and Bar, 1420 SE Powell) Portland power-pop quartet Mr. Bones gets extra points for taking their namesake from an obscure genre-defying Sega Saturn game. In fact, it's probably the finest (read: only) Sega Saturn reference to grace a Portland stage since comedian Ron Funches mused on the pronunciation of Panzer Dragoon at a Helium open mic before he moved to Los Angeles. Mr. Bones are a young band, full of talent, and helping to foster a growing Portland scene that deserves attention. Their self-titled debut is a collection of lo-fi, heart-on-sleeve rock that's grounded with a strong DIY-aesthetic that allows it to soar brazenly in unpolished glory. Tonight they share the stage with a handful of like-minded bands, including the sincere pop-punk outfit Hemingway, whose 2014 album Pretend to Care is one of the strongest and best-sounding emo-tinged punk albums to come out of Portland in years.
CHIPP TERWILLIGER

NATASHA KMETO, HOSANNAS, IBQT (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Natasha Kmeto makes alien music from an intimate perspective. In a 2014 interview with the dearly departed Wondering Sound website, Kmeto detailed the crux of what makes her beat-driven, minimal electronic soul so captivating. Whereas most fans of electronic music find it first in the drunken haze of clubs or house parties, Kmeto formed her connection with techno music tucked away in her bedroom, listening on headphones after coming home from middle school. Crisis sounds born of this disconnect, an album of intriguing, big-beat sounds that speak directly to you. Her magic trick is making the other 500 people in the room disappear; a Natasha Kmeto show is just the two of you. MP

JACCO GARDNER, CALVIN LOVE, OZARKS (Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Jacco Gardner's 2013 album Cabinet of Curiosities is like a soundtrack to a wonderful dream, one where polished melodies and plinky harpsichords—and, like, antique clocks or something—swirl hazily through a mossy forest scene. With it, the young Dutch psych-pop wizard established himself as a promising descendant of the same family tree that produced Brian Wilson, Syd Barrett, and Ray Davies. High praise? Indeed. Now Gardner's back with a sophomore effort called Hypnophobia, which pushes even further into the ethereal world, with gentler arrangements, wandering instrumentals, and a long, spaced-out jam. But he manages to explore these outer reaches without losing momentum or crashing his well-crafted aesthetic, and it's that balance—call it baroque surrealism—that makes Hypnophobia even more impressive than its predecessor, even if it's not as instantly gratifying. Gardner is a huge talent who's just beginning to blossom. BEN SALMON

GENDERS, HELVETIA, TIBURONES (Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Genders have been a staple in the Portland independent music scene for three years now. Their honky-tonk psychedelics just breathe the Pacific Northwest, as if Modest Mouse and Gus Van Sant made a love child to the soundtrack of Singles and raised it in a cabin at the base of Mt. Hood. On their 2013 self-released debut LP, Get Lost, Maggie Morris and Stephen Leisy's delicate vocals meet with wavy, whammed-out guitars that feel like the endless ripples in a pond after a rock has been perfectly skipped across it. Also on the bill is Joyful Noise Recordings act Helvetia, whose 2012 album Nothing in Rambling was a beautiful and idiosyncratic brand of indie-psych with Neutral Milk Hotel influences. CAMERON CROWELL

LUNCH, VHS, DARK/LIGHT, STEEL CHAINS (The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) My brain is beach fried. I don't know if it's some lethargy toxin that's seeping into my ears through the water or just the sun baking my mind into oblivion, but whatever it is, I've been floating around in a blissful, slightly stupid daze. Until I put on VHS. The frenetic punk band (whose acronym stands for Violent Human System) feels like a shot of cold brew straight to my brain—it thrashes and teems with nervous energy and some seriously manic Jay Reatard vibes. And like downing a little too much coffee, the killer guitar hooks and wild, reverbed howls have got me feeling slightly anxious in the best possible way and ready to rage at the Reno-to-Seattle transplants' show tonight. Who wants to go night swimming after the show? ROBIN EDWARDS

FRED THOMAS, SKIN LIES (Bunk Bar, 1028 SE Water) I've never been to Fred Thomas' hometown of Ypsilanti, Michigan, but I'm certain that it wouldn't be acceptable to grab a stranger, spin them in circles, and then follow up with a swift punch to the gut. That's the exact feeling I get while listening to Thomas' recent solo album, All Are Saved. Maybe it's my own fault for being such a stranger; I've had a decade and a half to familiarize myself with Thomas' pop project Saturday Looks Good to Me, and this recent solo outing is the eighth under his own name. That said, I'm not sure even the most diehard Thomas devotees were prepared for his latest album, especially the dizzying and breathtaking opening number, "Every Song Sung to a Dog," which builds a cacophony of horns and harmonium around Thomas' vulnerable, conversational lyrics as they reflect on the pain of losing an animal friend. CT

EYELIDS, PHANTOM SHIPS, WIMPS (The Secret Society, 116 NE Russell) The cover of Eyelids' first 7-inch—2013's "Seagulls into Submission"—featured a garbled, hand-drawn family tree of its members' other bands, including the Minus 5, Sunset Valley, No. 2, and the Boston Spaceships. (But not the two best-known names in Eyelids' lineage: the Decemberists and Guided by Voices.) Two years later, Eyelids are no longer the parts of their sum, they're just the kind of killer all-star group that sometimes serendipitously springs up here in Portland. Led by (Decemberists drummer) John Moen and (former GBV member) Chris Slusarenko, Eyelids specialize in gorgeous, jangling pop-rock dipped in sunny, psychedelic swirl (think Flying Nun meets the Paisley Underground), and they have a ton going on right now: new cassette and UK releases of their debut album, 854. New videos. A splendid new Peter Buck-produced EP out this week. And a show to celebrate that release tonight at Secret Society. BS

HOT MASS: PEARLES, DOUBLEPLUSGOOD, RIO GRANDS, DJ JEREMY PETERSEN, DJ DIRTY RED(Church, 2600 NE Sandy) Saturday is going to be hot. Like, triple-digit hot. Like, everywhere-you-go-is-gonna-be hot, even the movie theaters and the freezer aisle at Freddy's. So you might as well lean into it and embrace the heat. Luckily, Church is throwing an outdoor party in the parking lot behind the bar, and it'll be the first in a series that'll take place throughout the summer. To kick off this particularly hot Hot Mass, members of Radiation City and terrific Seattle band the Comettes have joined forces to form Pearles, and the new band plays up the strength of both outfits by ushering in a tuneful, time-agnostic brand of breezy but melancholic pop. Rounding out the bill are sets from Portland bands DoublePlusGood and Rio Grands, both of which will be as refreshing as a tall glass of lemonade. Summer's here, and there's no better way to celebrate it this weekend than a spell at Hot Mass. Just remember to stay hydrated. NL

THE B-52s, THE FABULOUS DOWNEY BROTHERS (Oregon Zoo, 4001 SW Canyon) Nostalgia is a powerful drug. Believe me, I've been on it. The B-52s are dealing it in a big way, having toured in recent years with the Go-Gos and Tears for Fears and playing all their hits. It's important to note that the B-52s haven't put out any new material since 2008's fun and uneven (funeven?) Funplex. Their previous album before that came in 1992. So credit should be given to the B-52s for giving the people what they want, rather that touring under the guise of a new record that nobody wants to hear anyway. God knows the hits are plentiful: "Roam," "Legal Tender," "Love Shack," and, of course, "Rock Lobster." Give in. Have fun. MARK LORE

THE MOONDOGGIES, WINTERHAVEN (White Eagle, 836 N Russell) In 2005, I went to a cookie-cutter house in the suburbs of Lynwood, Washington, to watch the Moondoggies play in a living room. After a set of painful stand-up comedy, an embarrassing acoustic cover of "Baby's Got Back," and a lot of spilled Carlo Rossi on the white carpet, the Moondoggies filled the room with their version of '70s Southern rock and made the laughable setting and bad lighting slip away. After the show, people stood around and talked about how great the band was and how they should be famous. Though I agreed, I thought the chances of an indie band that sounded like the Allman Brothers becoming popular was slim to none. Thankfully I was wrong. Ten years later, the Moondoggies are still going strong, touring the world, slowly releasing carefully thought-out albums on Hardly Art, and continuing to make the perfect soundtrack for the slow and easy nights of early summer. JOSHUA JAMES AMBERSON

ALIEN BOY, SLEEVELESS, MAN REPELLANT (Slim's, 8635 N Lombard) The Portland post-hardcore/emo scene is currently thriving, and Alien Boy are no different. The trio's debut album, Never Getting Over It, is hazy, distorted shoegaze with lo-fi American Football-style vocals that fit into traditional pop-punk song structures. Alien Boy's music contains a stormy sadness, full of fits of energy rather than a somber drizzle. They even cover the Smith's "Hand in Glove," which should be an indicator of the group's lyrical direction, as Morrissey continues to be a thematic reference throughout the rest of Never Getting Over It, evidenced by lines like "I'll die by your side, but only tonight," delivered in a quick-hitting fuzz that doesn't give you time to cry. Expect a night of heavy feels disguised in upbeat punk liveliness. CC

THE WE SHARED MILK, AND AND AND, TAMED WEST (Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) The We Shared Milk broke up last year after 218 shows in the Portland area and beyond. Tonight they're reforming—for one last time, they say—to celebrate the release of a live album that was recorded at the Banana Stand in April 2014. While it's way too soon to wax nostalgic about last frickin' year, this is still a happy chance to revisit one of the hardest-working Portland bands, and their casual, tuneful repertoire of bummed-out but rocking jams. Hey guys, if you decide you want to be a band again, s'cool. We're down. NL

ELVIS DEPRESSEDLY, MITSKI, ESKIMEAUX (Analog Café, 720 SE Hawthorne) The title of Mitski's latest LP, Bury Me at Makeout Creek, is potentially the most obscure Simpsons reference appropriated by an indie band yet. The music, though, constantly vacillates between two pretty distinct identities: opener "Texas Reznikoff" begins as a meandering, posy-specked acoustic ballad with lilting vocal delivery and gently plucked guitar, before exploding into a propulsive racket of power chords and drums that still somehow retains a sense of delicacy. "Townie" is an anthemic, power-pop cut of colossal proportions that fucking rocks and feels organic and urgent (just peep that refrain—"I'm not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be"). "Last Words of a Shooting Star" expertly highlights the sheer quality of Mitski Miyawaki's songwriting and her transparent reverence for introspective folk antecedents like Joni Mitchell and Judy Collins. Ordinarily I'd balk at this degree of stylistic indecision, but both sides of Makeout Creek are undeniably terrific—turns out some people are just good at everything. MORGAN TROPER Also, read our article on Elvis Depressedly.

BLADE RUNNERBALL: SWAHILI, TALKATIVE, HOUSE OF AQUARIUS, NOAH BERNSTEIN (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Well, this sounds possibly awesome: a night at Holocene devoted to Ridley Scott's dystopian science-fiction classic, Blade Runner, a movie that functions as both a time capsule of 1982 and a Venetian blind cracked open upon the noir of the future. There will be costumes (which will appeal to some of you) and an "immersive visual landscape" (which sounds more up my alley), plus music from local musicians like Talkative, Swahili, and saxophonist Noah Bernstein. Hmm, the only wrinkle here is a "two-act avant-garde play adapted from the film." That sounds a little rough. Does it really need to be two whole acts, guys? Can't we just drink some drinks with worms in them and do our synthetic snake dances and talk about Philip K. Dick and skip the theater piece? Oh, tears in the rain. NL

MONDAY 6/29

HEAD WOUND CITY, GRAVE BABIES, VICE DEVICE (Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Out of all of the high-profile reunions of the 2010s, Head Wound City might be the most unexpected. Not that these shows and the remastered EP arrive unwelcome, but the band—members of Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Blood Brothers, and the Locust—always seemed too weird to happen again. Oddly enough, the band sounds more straightforward than the sum of its parts, like a kind of Bob Ross paint-by-numbers of spazzy grindcore, but, hey, for some people, that's exactly the itch that needs to be scratched. (And Bob Ross did some cool things, too. Look at those trees, man. Those were three brush strokes each and it looks like freakin' Yosemite in your living room.) MP Also see My, What a Busy Week!

TUESDAY 6/30

GARY WILSON, NURSES, FOG FATHER, WAMPIRE (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Like R. Stevie Moore, Gary Wilson has enjoyed a late-career boost thanks to certain younger musicians hip to these songwriters' skewed pop genius and eager to expose it to their peers. Wilson's steez will appeal to fans of cult misfit artisans like Ariel Pink, Kenneth Higney, and Doug Hream Blunt. Ol' Gary's not a real looker, but his women-obsessed songs suggest he's a lothario, even if his commonplace vocals betray him as a shlub. However, Wilson's a stud when it comes to crafting sleek, catchy melodies and deceptively funky rhythms (there's a reason Stones Throw put its promo muscle behind him). The down-on-its-luck, loungey patina that clings to Wilson's best material—especially 1977's You Think You Really Know Me—adds a layer of poignancy to what could be corny shtick. This Endicott, New York, multi-instrumentalist's career has spanned from '60s bubblegum act 1910 Fruitgum Company to interactions with John Cage, and out of such unlikely sources springs Wilson's oddball, creepily pretty popcraft. DAVE SEGAL

ROB THOMAS (Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, 1037 SW Broadway) Before Sir Robert Thomas came along, popular music was a wasteland of schmaltzy drivel ("How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?") and racist screeds ("Chopsticks"). But Thomas and his legendary band Matchbox 20 changed the course of the 20th century, inventing rock 'n' roll with their fresh, exciting debut, Yourself or Someone Like You. With it, they lit a fire beneath the teenagers of America—and around the globe! Never before had music sounded this raucous, this sexy, this alive. But redefining youth culture wasn't enough for Thomas & Co.; their follow-up, Mad Season, exploded the boundaries of popular music's capabilities, blending classical, jazz, and folk motifs with acerbic, literary lyrics to create something no one had ever heard before. Unable to be contained by the confines of Matchbox 20, Thomas then went on to his greatest triumph, his epoch-shattering collaboration with women's shoe designer Carlos Santana: "Smooth" stands to this day as the greatest musical endeavor yet composed, knocking off trifling garbage like Beethoven's Ninth Shitty Symphony, Bach's Shitty Brandenburg Concertos, and the shitty Beatles' Shitty Pepper's Lonely Shit Club Shit. All hail Rob Thomas! Without him, music—and life—would be empty and meaningless. NL